


the house with the sprinklers

by owlinaminor



Series: courferre week 2k14 [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Courferre Week, M/M, Neighbors, Running, sprinklers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why?" they ask him.  "Why torture yourself like that?  What could you possibly be gaining?"  (Grantaire is fond of quoting Anne from Parks and Recreation: "Jogging gets you healthy, sure, but at what cost?")</p><p>Courfeyrac has come up with plenty of reasons to tell them -- it helps him start off the day feeling accomplished, it wakes him up better than coffee, it gives him really bangin' calf muscles -- but, to be honest, there's only one true reason he keeps running in the mornings: the house with the sprinklers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the house with the sprinklers

**Author's Note:**

> courferre week, day two!

Courfeyrac is certifiably insane.

Well, this is nothing new, really -- teachers, friends, and random passers-by on the street have been giving him strange looks for as long as he can remember -- but he's decided to try something that really pushes the boundaries of the insanity.  Multiplies the potency of the insanity.  Gives the insanity a top hat and teaches it tap dance.

Courfeyrac has decided to go for early morning summer runs.

Now, the advantage (advan _tage_ , singular) of early morning summer runs is that they are _not_ midday summer runs.  The disadvantages of early morning summer runs is that they are runs, in the early morning, in summer.  Every morning, Courfeyrac forces himself out of bed, ties and re-ties his sneakers at least three times, grabs his smartphone, and takes off.  Half an hour later, give or take a few minutes, he returns limping, covered in sweat, and swearing to never do that ever again.  Marius usually pats him sympathetically, gives him a water bottle, and pushes him into the ice-cold shower -- and then, the next morning, Courf is at it again.

"Why?" they ask him.  "Why torture yourself like that?  What could you possibly be gaining?"  (Grantaire is fond of quoting Anne from Parks and Recreation: "Jogging gets you healthy, sure, but at what cost?")

Courfeyrac has come up with plenty of reasons to tell them -- it helps him start off the day feeling accomplished, it wakes him up better than coffee, it gives him really bangin' calf muscles -- but, to be honest, there's only one true reason he keeps running in the mornings: the house with the sprinklers.

There's this house right at the end of his route, at the top of the hill he has to run up in order to get back home.  On the outside, it might seem like nothing particularly special: it's of a moderate size, painted light green with white shingles, like half the other houses on his block, and doesn't have any huge, hanging flags or gaudy lawn ornaments to distinguish it from the houses around it.  But look closer, and the garden is something incredible – full of flowers and bushes of every variety, all carefully pruned and weeded to be the most beautiful that they can be.  Every color, every size, every shape is represented, making the garden a veritable menagerie, a Noah’s Ark of plants.  Courfeyrac has killed every plant he’s ever been responsible for, so for him, that garden is quite the feat.

He supposes that the garden probably has something to do with the regularity and intensity of the sprinkler system, but he doesn't particularly care.  All he cares about is that every morning when he runs home, the sprinklers are turned on, they're facing the sidewalk, and they're at exactly the height of his face.  Running through those sprinklers after sweating his ass off for twenty to forty long, arduous minutes is like stepping into heaven after a long trek though the inferno.  Usually, Courfeyrac will just run through, letting the cool water hit his face in one miraculous burst after another, but sometimes (on a particularly hot morning, or after a particularly difficult run) he'll simply stand in the spray for a few glorious moments, letting the artificial rainstorm soak his face in cold, cold paradise.

He explains this to Marius one morning after his roommate finally gets up the nerve to ask him why he goes back to running the next morning if he's only going to whine about how horrible it is.  Marius allows Courf to wax poetic about the incredible sensation of _sprinklers after running_ for some time, then wonders aloud, "If the sprinklers are so nice, why don't you leave the person who owns them a thank-you note?"

Courf pauses in comparing the sprinklers to a summer's day (which doesn't really make sense because a summer's day is hot, not cool, but he's on a roll, okay) to stare at his friend, eyes wide.

"I - I mean," Marius adds, "if you think it's a good idea?  You don't know the person, they might think it's weird --"

"No!" Courf exclaims.  "It's a _great_ idea!  Marius, you're a genius."

* * *

_Dear Sir/Madam/Resident/Actual Perfect Human Being:_

_Hi!  I would just like to sincerely thank you for existing, for buying and installing a sprinkler system, and for programming that sprinkler system to direct itself upon the sidewalk from six-thirty to six-forty-five A.M. every morning.  As a runner who is returning home from arduous physical exertion at that time most weekday mornings, your sprinkler system is an actual godsend.  Please, don’t change.  Or, more accurately, don’t change your sprinkler system.  It’s the reason I’m able to go for morning runs at all.  (I mean, no pressure or anything.)_

_Once again, thank you!!!_

_~ Courfeyrac, certifiably insane runner_

* * *

The morning after he leaves the note is a Tuesday.

Courfeyrac has come to both resent and love Tuesdays in equal measure, like a rarely visited cousin whom you miss desperately until you see them again and remember that they’re kind-of an asshole.  Tuesday is the day of the week Courfeyrac has delegated to his tempo run; in other words, he spends twenty minutes running as fast as he can manage around a two and half-mile loop.  Tempo runs are exhausting, painful, and an exercise in willpower as well as muscle – and on Tuesdays, the sprinklers of that amazing person’s house are more welcome than ever.

This particular morning, the humidity is high, Courfeyrac beats his previous tempo run record by ten seconds, and he feels perfectly justified in standing under the highest rotating sprinkler for a good thirty seconds.  Courfeyrac closes his eyes, savoring the cool relief of water meeting sweat.  He could stay here for an hour, honestly, just letting his muscles slowly loosen and –

“Um, hi.”

Courfeyrac opens his eyes, snapped out of his paradise like a fish pulled abruptly out of its tank.  There is a man standing on the driveway to the house, watching Courfeyrac.  He’s tall and gangly, probably not older than twenty-five, with dark skin and ebony hair that falls about his face in bangs just shy of being too long.  He’s like an owl, somehow, with clear, blue-gray eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and the intense, scrutinizing expression that gives Courfeyrac the feeling that his very soul is being examined and the light green shirt and loose tie of a middle-aged professor trying to be cool – and the whole effect is somehow so incredibly attractive that Courfeyrac is just kind-of struck dumb for a second.

And – wait.  He’s standing in the driveway of the house with the sprinklers.  The owner of the house with the sprinklers is a hot guy.

Courfeyrac can safely say that he did _not_ prepare for this eventuality.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly remembering that the guy spoke to him, probably too long ago for his answer to be polite and un-weird.

“I, ah, assume you’re the runner who left a note in my mailbox yesterday?” the guy asks.

Courfeyrac nods.  It dawns upon him that, after a combination of running and spinklers, he probably looks positively disgusting – and yeah, a common runner’s motto is, “If you still look cute at the end of the workout, you didn’t work hard enough,” but still.  _Still._

 _Way to make a good first impression on the hot neighbor, Courf,_ he berates himself.  _Way to go._

Oh, well.  Courfeyrac wouldn’t be a self-declared master of flirtation if he wasn’t good at making the best of a bad situation.  (And besides, he’s at least sixty percent certain that Hot Neighbor is eyeing the body beneath his tank top and running shorts with something not unappreciative.)

Courfeyrac takes a few septs forward and offers Hot Neighbor his least sweaty hand and his best enchanting smile.  “I’m Courfeyrac, I live at number twenty-four,” he says.  “I may be gross-looking right now, but I can assure you, I clean up really well.”

Hot Neighbor takes Courfeyrac’s hand and shakes it firmly.  His fingers are long and ink-stained, and they fit well in Courfeyrac’s – interlocking like puzzle pieces.

“Combeferre,” he introduces himself.  “So, you’re saying that you’re a lot hotter than you look?  That’s good to hear, although –”  He blushes, and it’s quite possibly the most adorable thing Courfeyrac has ever seen.  “— you don’t look so bad right now.”

Courfeyrac grins.  “Want to see for yourself?  Meet me for lunch later.”

Combeferre’s face, which has started to flush pink, now goes seriously strawberry red.  “I’m, um, I have work all day today,” he says.

It’s not ideal but – it’s not a no, either.

“Tomorrow?” Courfeyrac offers.

Combeferre’s mouth twists up in a small smile – one that seems strangely private, even though they just met.  “Tomorrow.”

"How about -- noon, that little sandwich shop on Main Street?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, that sounds great."

Courfeyrac nods again, and his heart leaps in his chest.  “So, I should probably take a, um –”

“Shower?” Combeferre suggests.

“Yeah.”  And now, Courfeyrac is the one blushing.  “Thanks again for – well, for your sprinklers.”

“You’re welcome,” Combeferre says.  “Really welcome.”

Courfeyrac turns to jog off, but he can’t help turning his head once to see Combeferre still watching him, still smiling.

His feet feel lighter all the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> (no, I didn't work a decoy bride quote in there, what are you talking about)
> 
> as always, feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://liberteegalitehomosexualite.tumblr.com/) :)


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